Stages
by VerityFrancesB
Summary: A few stages in the relationship of Jen and Gibbs. And oh my god...there is not smut!


_I don't actually know where this came from. But hope you enjoy..._

* * *

**Epiphany**

Her back hit the wall as he advanced on her, a dangerous look in his eyes. She swallowed hard and waited for the head slap and talking to that was inevitable. She had messed up, no doubt about that, but his reaction had taken her breath away, she had put no one in danger apart from herself. His blue eyes flashed, incandescent fury in the pale blue, and he leant in close like he always did when he was angry and suddenly Jen wanted him close for entirely different reasons.

In that split second, she realised that it was his fault she had been turning down the advances of suitable men, been distant on dates that she had finally given to, and it was his face that always came to the front of her mind when the dry spell had suddenly caught up with her and she had dealt with it her way. A warmth spread through her stomach when he leant even closer and his voice grew low with anger.

It was an epiphany. Possibly the most badly timed epiphany in the history of epiphanies, not only was he her boss, but he was dating someone else. But it was her epiphany, and she embraced it.

When his eyes flashed dangerously again, she longed for a smile, a gentle touch, a hard yet soft and warm body wrapped around her own. She suddenly hungered for the touch of callused hands and scarred familiar skin, skin she had seen far too many times but had never paid attention to, never _admitted _that she'd paid attention to, but skin she now longed to touch. She pushed the thought away when she felt the slight blush creeping along her cheeks.

How would he react if she just leant forward and closed the minute gap between them, and covered his mouth with hers?

"Don't _ever _do that again. You have a whole team to back you up. Don't play the hero Jen."

He stepped back and she realized that she could breathe again. She wanted to ask him why he was so angry, was it because she was part of his team or was it because seeing her shot at had awakened feelings in him he didn't know existed until he thought she might not be there anymore? She swallowed and took a step towards him, wanting to apologise but knowing he wouldn't accept it. Her legs were shaking and there was still warmth pulsing through her body at the closeness of him.

She was _so_ screwed.

_________________________________________________

He was disconcerted by the sudden rush of lust and fear in her eyes when her back had collided with the wall and he had stepped into her personal space, but he refused to be distracted.

He had all the time in the world to think back on this, alone in his basement with only bourbon and a shell of a boat to keep him company, and wonder if the heat he felt coming from her body had been to do with the sheer closeness of their bodies, or the fear of her nearly being shot, or something else entirely.

All the time in the world to pretend to sleep and think about the way her eyes had darkened and the blush that had coloured her cheeks for the split second.

All the time in the world to remember, try to forget, the way her eyes flicked down his body and rested on his mouth.

All the time in the world to blame it all on adrenaline. At least that way it was safer.

* * *

**Giving**

The handle was beechwood, warm and smooth to the touch. Polished to an sheen by hours in her caring, delicate hands. It fit his grip like it had been made for him. The tiny nicks and scratches, sanded out and filled, told him that the knife had seen action.

"Happy birthday, Jeth...Boss."

He didn't hear the way she stumbled over his name, everything but the knife that lay in his hands filtered out.

"You broke your last one trying to pick handcuffs to save me." She shrugged with a smile, "Figured you could use a new one."

The blade was flawless. Carving on the handle made it seem delicate but not feminine, delicate but deadly in the right hands. He held it up, it balanced perfectly on his finger. He looked up at her, knowing that she took the maintenance of her sidearm seriously and could imagine her sharpening this with delicate hands, and the image touched him.

The knife clattered gently against the counter but neither of them noticed.

A flashed of _something _crossed her face when he took two steps towards her, driven by nothing except the need to feel her in his arms. He wrapped her in a fierce hug and she froze, just for a moment, before her arms wound around his waist.

The hug, silent, intense and full of meanings that couldn't be expressed right then, went on and on until the awkwardness got just too much for both of them to bear and then they pulled apart.

"You're welcome…"

* * *

**Caring**

When they emerged victorious from a fight, a chase, sometimes bruised, sometimes bloody, her hands would tremble when she watched Ducky patch up _another _wound on his skin.

The curve of his neck and the sharply angeled shoulder blades, toned chest begged to be touched by hands and lips and tongue. Jen resisted, always resisted, fisting her hands by her sides when Ducky gave yet _another _lecture of the recklessness that might one day get him killed.

And then one night they weren't _quite_ so victorious, well, he wasn't.

She sat next to him on the way to the hospital, white faced and white knuckled, hands clasped in her lap as if she let them go, she would reach out and touch. Sat next to him through out all the inevitable questions of _how did this happen_ and the questioning eyes, because they were too far away from Bethesda and no one understood what they did. Just another shooting.

By the time they reach his house, Jen thought she was going to need a new set of teeth, because they had been clenched so hard together, to stop herself from crying, from shouting at him like he had shouted at her, and she thought that he knew that too. And the effort of getting out of the car himself, when he swatted her hands away, had started the bleeding again.

Jen pushed him down into a chair and he didn't resist and that made her scared. But his voice was still clear when he said no, he wasn't going back to hospital, she could deal with it. She swallowed when she helped him out of his shirt and watched with morbid fascination as the blood seeped through his bandage before his laboured breathing snapped her back to reality and she grabbed more bandages.

Gibbs was motionless, zoned out by pain and painkillers and the large slug of bourbon she made him drink, against her better judgement, but he asked, and who was she to deny. He hardly noticed when she finished retying the bandaged and placed a small kiss to it.

But he did notice the way her eyes filled with tears for a split second before she blinked them away and made a mental note to ask her in the morning what they meant.

* * *

I**ntimacy**

Jen was nothing if not persistent. Her gentle voice asking constant question, _what about this one, how did this happen, did you feel this one. _He wanted to brush of the questions with a flippant comment but it was her eyes that made him answer every single one with more honesty than he had shown any of his wives.

She wanted answers, every time he was shirtless, the white lines marring his skin, her eyes tracing them with hesitation and sympathy that made him want to take her hand and kiss the fingertips.

For every scar and broken bone that she hadn't been there to see, hadn't been there to patch up.

Her persistence was wearing him down, chipping away at the walls he had so carefully constructed.

The bench seat in the front of the truck seemed to shrink with every journey, with every new case, bringing thighs together. But Jen, not knowing if she was moving closer to him or he was moving closer to her, noticed when he didn't shift away, didn't move over to give her more space and relished in the fact that maybe she was cracking the walls down slowly but surely.

The first night in the attic he woke to her fingers on his shoulder and he knew he had been having a nightmare, but her fingers tracing a small scar, chased away the demons although he would never tell her that. Her whispers seemed to melt into the background until the words were incoherent and it didn't matter what she was saying as long as she was saying something.

The following morning the hot water had run out before she had a chance to shower and he winked and promised that next time they would share, this time he didn't ignore the blush that crept over her cheeks and the small smile that graced her features when she turned back to the window with a _you wish_ that wasn't quite as forceful as she had wanted it to be.

* * *

**Actualisation**

Finally coming together was like sliding naked into a hot bath - slick, all-embracing with a distinct lack of resistance. A huge weight lifted off shoulders hunched so long it had become an almost natural posture. It was like flying.

It was like coming home. But in the back of her mind she knew it was like coming home to somewhere she knew the happiness couldn't last.

He had surprised her, mentioning in an off hand comment about their growing closeness.

But it had been ignored for the rest of the day until, as the light began to dim over the dock, he had reached for her, silently asking permission before covering her lips with his and she had nearly died.

The kiss was hungry, full of promises that would never be fulfilled and neither of them could speak aloud. But at that moment, perfect understanding breached the gap between their respective walls and they understood.

* * *

**Leaving**

He had known something was wrong, he had seen it in her eyes, but he hadn't wanted to admit to himself that she could ever possibly leave. But the plane had been void of her when he walked on, nothing to suggest she had ever been there except a coat with a crumpled letter in the pocket and the smell of her perfume in the air.

He had pushed her away, her memories, the way she had made him feel, he had started the minute his fingers touched her coat and he knew she wasn't coming back. But it wasn't easy, memories and feelings had floated unbidden to the surface at the most inappropriate moments.

Bourbon helped, lulled to sleep with the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her hair in his hands.

* * *

**Realisation**

The moment their eyes locked, he knew she was going to be trouble, knew that her being back in his life was going to stir up memories and feelings that he had spent 6 years trying to forget and push down.

She smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and he remembered soft skin, hushed whispers, hands seeking and finding secret places that made him shudder and breathe out her name, fingers holding hard enough to bruise.

She knew what he was remembering, her eyes told him that.

He knew it would be hard, hard to forget, but she had told him _no off the job_ and for the first time in his life, he listened to something other than his gut. Nodding and walking away.

Listening got harder to do, when she smiled, or touched him whether by accident or on purpose. It got harder and harder to listen to the rational side of his mind that shouted at him to stay away. But he remembered clutching at her like a life line, the images of Shannon and Kelly coming flooding back to him, her face filled with grief. It was the grief that struck a cord.

It was time that she remembered what it felt like to be with him. It was time he let himself remember.

He knew it the moment his hands found her face again and pulled her towards him, the past 9 years melting away, leaving them both reeling from the aftermath of yet another kiss full of promises, knew that the promises this time _would _be fulfilled.

* * *

_V!_

_xox  
_


End file.
